


That thin penalty arising from normality

by Asia191



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, First Meetings, Fluff, Introspection, Kenma thinking about stuff, Kuroo is so Sleepy, M/M, Memories, Sleepy Cuddles, Slice of Life, Tags Are Hard, Trust, they are adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 16:29:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8379403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asia191/pseuds/Asia191
Summary: « Kenma, most of the times, thinks to be quite a normal person.Far from exceptions, distant from being part of them and, especially, too incredibly lazy to waste energy in order to try to deal even only passively with them.Kuroo, however, is an exception, and even if he cannot really remember when he has begun to be the kind of guy that someone would call 'lazy', somehow he has a vague memory about the moment he decided that, at least for one person – and only for that one – he would have done a little more than his usual to be somehow– more, than that. »





	

_Kenma never thought to be a person too much different from the norm, honestly speaking._

  


He thinks instead, and probably anyone with a pair of graphs and statistics in hand could give him reasons to believe that, it is more than easy to see how generally he doesn’t deviate too much from the idea of the typical japanese guy, starting from his typical Asian family or from the expectations everyone at home has towards him, that one child parents have felt morally obliged to give birth to; he could continue, perhaps, with the precise and linear academic career expected from him, or even with the everyday less rare presence/absence, among the twenty–first century oriental families, of such parenting figures at home: a lack Kenma read – in a book now probably abandoned somewhere inside some kind of neat pile in the library – it is leading an increasing part of young japaneses to withdraw into themselves, limiting time spent outside their house and developing a latent form of voluntary isolation instead; probably a quite sad reality, but useful from a mere statistical point of view ‘cause it puts Kenma, even in this case, in a percentage of majority among the population.

  


Anyone could also say everything except he actually _stands out_ from the others for any particular physical traits, for excessive height or even for an excessive lack of it, unlike many of his teammates who made their stature the main reason for choosing a specific role in sports, for example.

He doesn’t differ too much from the crowd even thinking about his somatic features, especially if someone compares that really unoriginal semi–lunar fold that hides the inner corner of his eye, right next to his nose, with the other ones’, a physical feature that reduces Kenma’s and almost a third part of world population’s nasal septum; or even speaking of the mouth, small, narrow, lips rosy and slightly asymmetrical, the upper lip lightly thinner than the lower, a far more common feature than having them fleshier or with that particular hearty shape on the upper part.

Sure, maybe that irremediably faded blond – now as close as ever to a pale discoloration in lack of any specific treatment – doesn’t exactly make him a traditional japanese guy, but it has to be said that, compared to people within his age range, a decade characterized by adolescents of any nationality, it is – again – not very hard to find models to compare him to, a majority number of young boys and girls used to dye locks or their entire head with the most varied and unnatural hair colors – from ocean green to flame red, from canary yellow to electric blue – doing it even just to differentiate themselves from that as chimerical as, maybe, just utopian youthful conformism and certify through these color shades’ distinctions the strengthening of their individuality.

And all these considerations can be repeated another time even if someone considers his natural hair, since it would be difficult to find in his pitch black roots a characteristic feature able to differentiate him from the major percentage of Asia’s population, honestly speaking.

  


Not that Kenma has ever been interested that much, in being an exception. On the contrary, anyone could say being exceptional has generally never been on his mind, too complicated, too singular, too abnormal for his reassuring little everyday life, impossible to confront with his usual _modus operandi_ or to be presented again, day after day, without making continuous efforts to make it always different and always, in some way, true to itself. It really requires too much strain, too much attention and really, _too_ much labor to keep alive not only its absolute strangeness, but even its absolutely not necessary _uniqueness_ , something Kenma considers sufficient not to be very enthusiastic about. 

  


  


_Kenma, on the contrary, thinks of himself as quite a normal person._

  


Far from these exceptions, distant from being part of them and, especially, too incredibly lazy to waste energyin order to try to deal even only passively with them.

  


He doesn’t remember when he started to be the kind of guy that someone, perhaps, could call 'lazy'. And in fact he’s not even sure if he actually had a moment in his life in which he has not been like that, especially according to his parents who, during their days spent almost entirely at work, had gladly benefited in the past by the tendency of their five years old child to spend the whole day playing with his Legos inside the house, instead of asking them to take him to the park to use his energies on colored swings or long slides while meeting his kindergarten little friends. Even during the time spent at the nursery school he had been a lonely child, always far away from other babies, sitting silently and squeezing cubes and triangles in the right cavities of the various boxes, estranged by the screams and the loud cries of the other little classmates.

  


  


«... Kenma?»

  


  


So, long story short, even as a child he had always been a highly solitary person. And it was perhaps for this reason the meeting with that strange child as soon as he reached his six years was so unexpected, so painstakingly exceptional.

  


It had happened by chance, during one of the many afternoons spent attacking figurines while sitting on one of the garden bench of his elementary school, all focused on his little actions until a foam ball had fallen suddenly over a small stack of figurines he still had to stick, a couple dropping on the ground while an unexpected room between his arms was made for that big and round ball, yellow colored with orange squares decorations on it. Kenma stared at it, the apathy that had cradled that small roundly face until few moments before disappearing for a couple of seconds, leaving space to an imperceptible, yet understandable, frown, the only manifestation of the disagree felt in front of the just happened event. His mind had for some time been divided between the doubt about _how_ stickers could magically be transformed into a similar item and the absolute, boundless _suffering_ to the idea of having to go looking for that famous pair fallen on the ground, and while still taken from those thoughts he had heard a single voice wading into the noisy ocean of chatters and screams he had found himself involuntarily immersed, superimposing them with the talent of those who belong to that world – so _loud_ , so _full of life_ – and instantly separating him from that strange series of cognitive processes he finished to get heavily involved with.

"Hey, hey you!"

Kenma had slowly lifted his little face from the object he was holding in his hands, directing not without hesitation his big honeyed eyes towards the possible origin of that thunderous request of attention and not struggling to find it on that little boy with black hair, all unreasonably fired into the air, who was making his way through the low crowd of children – caught while running or hiding among potted plants and bushes in order to play some sort of games Kenma wasn’t probably invited to.

"Hey! Yeeep, you! You, on the bench!"

Kenma had quickly lowered his gaze, staring again on the big foam ball, noticing it was a bit ruined and with some missing piece probably bitten away from the time, and for a second he had wondered what were the actual chances that inky haired boy was not really referring to him. In moments like those he _really_ wished to have even just a raw percentage of chameleon capacity to blend his body into the colors of the bench, out of sight of anyone nearby.

"Hey! Thanks for taking the ball on the fly! Aaahh, the teacher would have never forgiven me if I had lost another one!"

"..."

Kenma didn’t answered, and if possible he had tried to become even smaller in its already small figure, legs dangling off the bench and feet moving imperceptibly closer to each other, as hoping to occupy less space as possible even at the ends of the body.

"You have to see how it flew, I was sure this time it would have finished one hundred percent on the road! Before it was all slow and then _boooom_ , super fast in the sky! It's really strange it didn’t end on the garden of Mr. janitor, now that I think about it..."

At that phrase Kenma had just turned away, keeping an eye on the gate that separated the caretaker's house – and its garden full of colorful plants – from the school one, in that part partially paved or covered with an arid soil and compressed by children's shoes in hurry during lunch break.

"Yes, right!! Have you seen how close it was? Good thing you were there! "

Kenma had lowered his eyes, not entirely convinced of how he should respond to that child so terribly excited about something that, to be honest, he has not even done.

"... I didn’t take it–"

He finally found the courage to answer, voice weak and insecure as big honeyed eyes went to stare at the side of the bench, his long black locks sliding forward his roundy cheek and hiding part of his face.

"Of course you did!! Look, you have it in your hands, aren’t you aware of getting it?!"

Kenma just wrinkled his nose at that, returning to stare at the ball. Of course he knew he got it, it was not what he meant, though..!

"It fell on me–"

He finally said, even attempting to throw a glance to the other and fixing his oval irises on the darker ones of the other boy.

"And it made my stickers to fall."

He ended, not averting his eyes from the older child, no trace of emotion in his eyes.

"Eeeeh?! Really?! Oh boy I’m so cool!!! "

And his childish concern was really needed at that point for little Kenma, together with the immediate awareness that nope, he didn’t understand that talky child, not at all.

"I mean, I did want to send it on this way but then _bang_! So I thought I had lost it forever!!!"

And among other things, he was fairly certain ' _bang_ ' was not a word that could be used in a similar phrase.

"And anyway _hey,_ if it hadn't been for you who knows where it would have bounced–!"

"… It did not bounce–"

"Soooo~ you can play with me, ‘cause you saved my ball!"

... And more than everything, he was sure that child didn’t understand him too, in all sincerity.

How could incompatibility between two people get to such high levels?

  


  


«... Kenma? »

  


  


Yet, despite everything, Kuroo Tetsurou had probably been the first person who voluntarily chose to speak with Kenma, not driven by any parents wishing their son to make friends with classmates – also because, as he later discovered, Kuroo was a year older than him, so ending up being in the same class was highly difficult – or pushed by moral obligation of some kind, like educational or occurrence ones.

  


Even the teachers had tried for a while to get him to talk in class, not only to answer their questions but to make friends too, putting him in larger groups and hoping the problem was for him to find people he felt at ease to talk with; but this, rather than help him, seemed to put him in a state of even higher silence, so in the end they decided it was for the best for him and for anyone to leave him in his small and silent world, letting him to talk only during school-questions time and listening in a diplomatic and secretly fascinated way that child so extremely quiet yet so wonderfully intelligent.

  


Kuroo, on the contrary, hadn’t given up. Where many people withdrew their hands when time run out and they found useless to continue to try, Kuroo remained with his hand stretched, patiently trusting it to be filled by the other, sooner or later. He had been a child who had never given up on him, continuing to ask him to play with his ball even after Kenma had refused the first time, gently shaking his head and quickly sliding down from the bench, stopping only to take his two stickers from the ground away and doing quick little steps towards the teachers, his album firmly hugged by those small arms. He had not given up the next day, and even the day after that one, and that was because, as he had arbitrarily decided, he had to repay in that way – and only in that one – the absolute goodness of heart that had led that quiet child not only to get the ball while it was going, but _even_ to give it back, leaving it on the bench.

  


When Kenma had finally agreed, asking him in exchange not to come from behind by surprise or to perch like a predatory on his shoulders while waiting to be considered from the other – making him, among other things, feel even shorter in front of his height so out of the average for his age – he had unwittingly sealed a pact with Kuroo that, even if he hadn’t known it yet at the time, would still last for a very, very long time.

  


  


  


Kuroo was different, particular, he was _the_ exception.

  


It was the sociality, the friendship of all, the sympathy of a large amount of people and, since they entered adolescence, the infatuation of many others. He went out with friends, doing meetings and partecipating on karaoke’s nights, even trying to propose to Kenma to come with him, sometimes. But he never imposed himself, and the younger one had always appreciated it, especially since he was aware that certain things, even as close as they were, would never be possible to be shared due to their different personality.

  


Kuroo was the exception, but it was immediately clear how incredibly, absurdly, impeccably normal he was, too. He was the boy who studied and had high grades in many subjects, but also a guy with so many problems in others like geography, or Japanese literature. He was a person constantly in company, but he admitted being incredibly at ease alone and, above all, with Kenma, as they passed time in silence or talking about things of more or less importance.

The world belonged to him, it was his ambient, people were his enviroment, even noise seemed to be made for him. Yet, it was the silence of his room too, it was the quietness of the streets at night and the evenings spent playing video games with Kenma.

Kuroo had been with a few girls, but he had never ignored Kenma.

And while with Kenma, he had never ignored the world.

  


  


  


_« **Hey,** Kenma? »_

  


Kenma blinks slowly, lazily, returning to focus the contours of his room and letting the lowered shutters just come back to seep into his view shadows of items placed on the frame of the large glass window. He notes with a hint of weariness as the cream–colored walls has taken shades of ocher in the highest part of the room, away from the daylight and by the attentions of their hired, and he distractedly thinks about the face his mother will make when she’ll become aware of that – probably after entering casually in his room in his absence – and she will ask to the hired to take ladder and detergent and wash the painted wall darkened by time. His glance passes then on the rest of the walls, noticing how the other parts are smooth, clean, just a few certificates – about primary and secondary school, but there is already a room his parents have created to set his high school diploma once he’ll receive it – and a few pictures of him with mother and father, all put together, in elegant clothes and with a sleeping baby in their arms, to decorate the otherwise minimalist walls. Kenma slips his eyes just below the window, where he knows there's his desk, but the view is precluded by the console, which he only now remembers he has in his hands, put vertically to make the game as easy as possible despite his lying in the low platform bed, standing in the same position from after-lunch, tired after a morning of walking around the neighborhood.

A thing, he would like to add, he would never have done voluntarily, if not strongly pushed by _someone_.

  


_«...»_

  


He arranges himself better on the queen-size mattress, which he is discovering being really too small if shared with another person, and all of a sudden it's really impossible not to notice the presence of the companion behind him, big, comforting, pleasantly warm in an afternoon like that, during the firsts of April.

  


_«Kenma, are you all right? I called you a couple of times but– You seemed to be completely absent. »_

  


Kenma’s breath is silent, secret, while the younger one is lulled for a moment by the other’s voice, his eyes closing for a few seconds while the console held in his hand is laid on the mattress, hands left free to rest on the soft folds of the bright sheets.

  


_« …– I was thinking. »_

  


Kuroo snorts a laugh, his left hand _–_ of the arm under Kenma’s body _–_ absently caressing the palm of the younger one, finding it unexpectedly close after the abandonment of the PSP made by his partner.

  


_«Even while you play? Don’t people usually do it to turn off their brain? And a valuable one as yours– »_

  


No, there's really nothing to do about it. Although Kuroo left school several months before, moving after the graduation to the university’s dormitories in order to continue his studies, Kenma had to accept his particular obsession for that metonymy between him and his brain won’t ever disappear. And this, it has to be said, in spite of the undefined number of times the younger one has made more or less clear that _really_ , it wasn’t absolutely necessary to continue with that embarassing _–_ thing, already and completely unnecessary even during the past years they spent playing volleyball together, when Kuroo had tried to see in that slogan a meaning Kenma has serious doubts it actually managed to pass.

For this reason, the young man decides there is no need to answer to a similar phrase, and instead prefers to simply remain silent, trying to think about the reason why Kuroo is still there and not thrown without hesitation out of his bed.

  


Perhaps it is true that Sundays can make even naturally lazy people lazier.

... Ah–. About Sunday.

  


_«Kuro–»_

  


Kenma moves a little, bringing his still slightly puerile face to the other and letting his left shoulder to follow the movement of his body toward Kuroo, feeling the mattress moving a little while the other backs his chin, in an attempt not to receive involuntarily a header from the minor.

  


_«Well yeah, it's me. Haven’t you noticed it now, have you? I could be offended. »_

  


The look Kenma tosses him –very uncomfortable too, being the position quite troublesome – is more than enough to show the companion how that answer was anything but necessary, yet despite being quite sure he made himself more than clear about the effective response that improvised cabaret has elicited from him, the only result he gets in front of his picky expression is a light hoarse laugh from Kuroo, one of the older’s legs that insinuates further between Kenma’s thighs while the younger one opens them instinctively, to leave to the undeserving guy enough space so that the bottom side of his thigh can rub lightly against the inside of his ones.

He waits for the other to finish laughing, but it turns out to be inconclusive since he soon finds himself once again unable to look at him, Kuroo’s face getting closer to Kenma’s neck to leave, between a chuckle and an other, a small trail of light kisses on his locks and between the dark roots, occasionally interspersed with a slight rubbing of the tip of the older’s nose between those long golden threads that adorn the head of the younger one.

  


_«Sorry, sorry– What were you saying? »_

  


At this time Kenma isn’t really sure if he still wants to talk, so he takes his time before returning to the topic, probably trying to erase the memory of those last seconds too much Kuroo’s style through a flawless vocal phlegm.

  


_« Next Sunday... »_

  


_«Hmm? »_

  


He hears Kuroo mumbling distractedly over his shoulder, his cold nose sliding obliquely over the younger’s head and passing in the meantime ahead, ending behind the ear while alternating few kisses to other sufficiently embarrassing sighs breathed directly through his hair, slowly lowering his attentions until hollowing himself on the croock of Kenma’s neck. He breathes then, quite deeply but just a little weaker then before and less aware compared to how he was at the beginning of the conversation. The younger one can almost _hear_ Kuroo’s attention span falling inexorably every passing minute, the torpor of drowsiness that makes its way between the cushion and the crumpled sheets beneath their bodies.

  


_« ... There is a festival– »_

  


_« … »_

  


_« ... Beer Festival– »_

  


Silence that greets his request is almost more explicit than a verbal response, and Kenma immediately senses how the other one is quickly abandoning him to make room for a reassuring state of unconsciousness, follwing the flow of an afternoon scanned by clock hands marking an hour usually dedicated to a passive digestion. Kenma tries again, moving a little just to make sure his shoulders glide gently against the bust of the companion, slightly tossing him.

  


_«... Kuroo–?»_

  


_«Nhm–?»_

  


Kuroo gathers just as little of consciousness as he needs to softly stroke Kenma’s side, fingers gliding over the fabric that is dressing his left hip, faintly trying to bring him closer to himself. Kenma lets him do it, and while he’s still waiting for the other one to completely get back to himself he imperceptibly gets closer to him, making himself even smaller than he is and almost plunging into the companion’s body, so big and warm behind him.

  


_«... ... Have you listened–? »_

  


A moment of silence, a regular breathing that slowly returns watchful and more conscious somehow.

  


_«Hmm? The– Beer festival, right? Yeah– »_

  


Kenma remains silent, leaving to his companion the necessary time to tidy up his mind still muffled by sleep, atoning for what he has unknowingly recorded in the last few minutes during his uncertain consciousness.

  


_«... I mean– yeah, I think so, I heard something about that festival from a couple of University colleagues ... »_

  


The younger one waits a couple of instants for the other one to continue, but this time it seems Kuroo is really not going to add anything more. Kenma opens his lips, only to close them again, slightly tightening them, lowering his face and bending the neck forward, causing a sufferer grumbling from his companion, all of a sudden deprived of the hot shield offered by Kenma's head.

  


_«... Do you want to? »_

  


He finds himself unable to say anything more, so he sincerely hopes the older one would realized where he's trying to move on with the conversation. Unfortunately, in the end Kenma has to accept Kuroo isn’t really understanding, as it’s quite evident by the absolute stillness of that hand still placed on the blond’s side, a sign the companion is thinking _that_ much about what kind of connection Kenma could have meant with that single question that he just completely estranged himself from reality. He slightly wrinkles his eyebrows, his hand touching those few centimeters of space forward him, covered by drapery of pale blue sheets, bringing out his console still paused by the previously started game, turning it vertically and casually pressing a few buttons.

  


_«You like this kind of things, right– »_

  


It can not really be more explicit than that, from his point of view.

  


_«... Yeah, but – Wait, are you asking me if I wanna go? »_

  


Now he can clearly feel the surprise of his companion’s voice, while his fingers move faster on the PSP buttons, looking for the next save station to close the game without losing any progress. He eventually finds it in the end, not without difficulties being himself not exactly at the maximum of his concentration right now, and only when he sees the accommodating “saving ...” word finishing to flash he breathes air out from his lungs, gliding the power button up and closing the console.

  


_«... It depends, do you want to? »_

  


_« Ah, don’t know ‘bout it. We usually spend our Sundays together–»_

  


Kenma remains silent, leaving another time the necessary time for Kuroo to arrive at his conclusions.

  


_«I mean– I don’t really know Kenma, we can see each other only on weekends, I would be quite ups– wait, ‘do you want to'? You mean ... together? »_

  


Kenma doesn’t answer, thinking carefully about what he could say and aware that _no_ , he’s absolutely not sure about what he really meant, actually. Or rather, yes.

He meant that indeed, or at least that was the solution he arrived to when, few days before, he noticed a commercial at the exit of Okachimachi station, while traveling to reach University for the open-day in view of the following year, as the neo freshman Kuroo had strongly – and rather, insistently – recommended him to do. As soon as he had briefly read the poster, which to be fair he had almost hit while walking – too busy playing 'Tactics Ogre' to notice it –, and after seeing the dates the festival would be held, he just couldn’t abstain himself from thinking how Kuroo would be over excited to go there.

The only problem, at that point, had been only the timetable written with the other information.

Saturday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday; and being Monday and Tuesday two of the major days Kuroo spent having lesson all day, the only available period was quite obvious.

  


The real problem, then, was painfully obvious. ‘Cause as sure as Kenma is a person who does not love being around people, even more if those people are overly excited and inhibited, even minimally, by a partially alcoholic beverage such as beer, it is also true that Kuroo hardly would leave Kenma alone at home during weekend, not after deciding at the very beginning of that year to compensate the five days they pass away from each other with the weekend spent together, from Saturday after lunch to Sunday afternoon, from the fifteen and fortyfive train route to the seventeen and twenty one. Kuroo has never been able to say _no_ to him, and Kenma knows this well, and sometimes it scares him. ‘Cause he knows their differences are remarkable, and that for every moment Kuroo passes changing his schedules to suit the lazy and solitary companion’s personality, there follows another one spent by the younger one feeling hopelessly unsuited to such privations, aware Kuroo never burdens him with his limits, but knowing how much of a load they can be on their relationship.

  


Kenma passes a few seconds in silence, then,

In the beautiful imbalance of a moment of uncertainty,

He nods.

  


He can feel behind him Kuroo tensing up, his hands lightly pressed onto the fabric that wraps his body, his voice a palette of prudence, practicality, but also mingled with some colorful line of hope and a light stain, at the very end of it, of enthusiasm.

  


_«You– sure? »_

  


Cause Kuroo knows it, he is aware of what means for his companion to participate to a similar event, and Kenma has to remind himself to breathe deeply and not to get down with cowardice, ‘cause sometimes it is just so difficult, ‘cause sometimes he thinks it would be just _so easy_ to put his head under the pillow, forgetting about all the conversation and simply enjoying the solitude of his little world, resized to him and compacted just like him.

  


But in such a small world, Kuroo wouldn’t fit.

  


And he wants Kuroo more than how he wants his frail, thin universe to remain that small.

  


_«… I am. »_

  


He simply says, moving his intertwined legs away from his companion’s one only to – not without some difficulties _–_ turn around within Kuroo’s embrace, finally becoming able to lay his eyes on the other’s shirt and on the round neckline worn by the other one.

  


He slowly looks up, stopping when he reaches his companion’s lips and quickly returning to look down, his voice very fleeble but clear enough to be heard by the older one: ‘cause he wants him to know, to know these words are for him; for him, and no one else.

  


_«… If you want it, I am. »_

  


And although he is not as good as the other one at showing his verbal color palettes, he knows the other one doesn’t need anything else to understand that what he just said is what he truly thinks.

  


For Kuroo, it really is.

  


_Kenma, most of the times, thinks to be quite a normal person._

_Far from exceptions, distant from being part of them and, especially, too incredibly lazy to waste energy in order to try to deal even only passively with them._

_Kuroo, however, **is** an exception, and even if he cannot really remember when he started being the kind of guy someone would perhaps call 'lazy', somehow he has a vague memory about the moment he decided that, at least for one person – and only for that one – perhaps he would have done a little more than his usual to be somehow– more, than that._

  


_As he has read in some books – same pile, same library – people, when caring about someone, are ready to do things they would never have imagined doing._

_And this is because normal people, in some way, fall in love._

_Normal human beings, when they least expect it, **feel** loved._

  


And Kenma?

  


_Kenma never thought to be a person too much different from the norm, honestly speaking._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading it! This is actually the second time I post something in english, I'm just so soo sooo nervous about it!!! Aaaah, I really hope you like it, though! Please feel free to comment, if you want! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ


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